Come Clean
by lavalieres
Summary: I know how much you hate the rain… Foolish landlord. The rain is a blessing. And I love it. [Somewhat Yami no Bakura x Ryou Bakura, oneshot]


**(A/N)** _So I'm putting off **Don't Call Me Pharaoh**. I have the plot done, but I've lost interest in the piece, preferring instead more in depth writing… Sorry kiddos! Maybe I'll go back and redo later… But for now I present:

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**Come Clean  
****By Halys**

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I don't even have enough money for college, what makes you think that I own Yuugiou?

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_Let the rain fall down  
And wake my dreams  
Let it wash away  
My sanity  
'Cause I wanna feel the thunder  
I wanna scream  
Let the rain fall down  
I'm coming clean.  
__Come Clean_: Lyrics by Haley Duff, sung by Hilary Duff

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"I like the rain." 

"Huh?" Bakura Ryou looked up from the Monster World miniature he had been painting. The adolescent with vibrant jade eyes and pale hair that was currently besmeckled with hues of red, blue, green and orange, looked over at his darkness. Dark Bakura, the spirit of the Millennium Ring was gazing out the rain-streaked window of Bakura's room

Without turning from the window, the self title "King of Thieves" grunted a response: "Pay more attention, landlord. I said that I like the rain. Now don't make me repeat myself."

Bakura's eyebrows furrowed as he pondered his darkness' statement. He could not understand why the spirit was fond of the rain, especially since he hated it.

Indeed, Bakura thoroughly hated the rain. He hated how precipitation would sodden his already thick hair, making it stick to his face in a rather uncomfortable manner. He hated how the rain, and the clouds that came with it, would darken his world, emitting an air of gloom and despair. But most importantly, Bakura loathed the rain because of the memories that it incurred.

To Bakura, the rain brought forth a slew of memories that were best forgotten. Memories of slick roads. Memories of mangled metal and broken bodies. Memories of blood and pain. Memories of two frail loved ones enveloped by plastic and metal wires. Memories of the tombstones, côte á côte.

Bakura gazed at the window his dark side was staring out. The rain was like tears, he thought, similar to the opalescent drops that often flowed from his jade eyes.

He turned from the grey window to glance at his darkness. This was one of the few times in his many brooding sessions that the spirit appeared content.

"Why do you like the rain?" Bakura whispered, his gaze sliding to the floor.

"I know how much you hate the rain… Foolish landlord." Bakura said naught. Of course, his darker half was able to read him better than anyone. Bakura, however, knew next to nothing about the ancient Egyptian that resided in his golden pendent.

"I know better. The rain is a blessing, both in my time and now. It came seldom, then, most falling to the south. When the rain did come, the sacred river would overflow. Those who ignored the warning signs would be washed away. Once the water receded, whatever wealth was left behind was free for the taking."

Bakura shivered, reaching for a blanket to wrap around himself. He was not surprised that the thief would find pleasure in something that represented wealth and death.

"Need me to warm you up, landlord?" The thief smirked as Bakura shook his head vigorously.

"Keh… Continuing, rain did not merely bring me treasure. Only twice a year did the rains come, if the did, and when they did, they brought life. Without the rain and the subsequent rain, nobody would last long. We needed those rains for food and crops. The period of time just after the rainy season was my favorite, because life began to emerge. There was enough death and destruction in Egypt, so it was refreshing to see new life. Especially after spending so much time with the dead."

The spirit got up from the window seat, gliding over to his host. Bakura stiffened in is chair, all thoughts of painting forgotten. His other self grabbed his hand and Dark Bakura led his landlord to the window. His long, translucent fingers moved to Bakura's chin, tilting it so he was looking out the window.

"Do you know the main reason why I love the rain?" the thief hummed into his ear. Goosebumps slid across Bakura's skin as his other self spoke.

"When it rains, I become cleansed. I may not be able to escape my past or be absolved of my sins, but when I'm in the rain, I feel Horus' tears on my skin, I feel unsoiled, purged, if only for a short while. And for that short time, I am able to experience emotions, something that while the sun shines and shadows are visible, I cannot experience, for I have a destiny to fulfill.

"Fee?" Bakura whispered. His darkness leant forward. He was so close; it was torture. He could feel his warm breath ghost across his cheeks as they shaded pink.

"You have never experienced being purified by the rain, have you?"

They were so close. "Close your eyes, landlord."

As his lids drew closed over his mahogany eyes, Bakura felt warm, bloodstained lips upon his. Warmth spread through his body as their lips danced in a noiseless rythem. The sensation, however, was soon eclipsed as Bakura felt chilly dampness on his skin. An illusion, maybe? But as moisture fell in rivulets across his body, the enormity of the occurrence felt all too real.

Everything was being washed away. He felt his fears and worries leave him as strong arms encased him and refreshing water showered down on him. New sensations replaced the old. Clarity, peace… himself. No more pain, no more loneliness. He was rinsed of all his hurts.

Too quickly, the sensation ceased. All the pain came rushing back as Bakura opened his eyes to the Millennium spirit. His hand drifted to his now damp hair. Glancing around, Bakura was astonished to find no moisture around them, yet his skin, hair, and clothes were damp.

"Did—Did that just happen?" Bakura's eyes glided back to the spirit.

"Of course it did," he scoffed. "And now you know why I like the rain." The soul thief turned and returned to his window seat, leaving Bakura to gape at him. Bakura's eyes widened, but he went back to his desk. He sat down and took his paints back up.


End file.
